On New Wings
by pandorad24
Summary: Rewrite of "With Wings Once Lost". The Flock always claimed that wings complicate their lives, but no one could have predicted how complicated life would be if one of them lost theirs. Iggy-centric, contains non-graphic rape and abuse. [ABANDONED]
1. Chapter 1

**IMPORTANT: This is NOT a sequel, just a rewrite of the original. Just so you know, I will be making major deviations from this fic's predecessor. There will be NO OC's, no self-harm, more realistic plot and characterization, and will be much shorter (probably about 10-20 chapters). If you haven't read the original... That's probably for the best. At this point, it's embarrassing for me to even think about.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Ari snarled irritably when another mosquito whined past his ear, swatting at the insufferable insect as he surveyed the large clearing. He still had no clue what he was doing in those woods, but the doctor had always been vague on details when it came to missions like this. Out of nowhere, a burst of static erupted from the walkie in his hand, and he flinched as a voice barked at him through the speakers.

_"Are you at the campsite?"_

"Yes, sir," he replied. "I hope this is the part where you tell me why I'm here."

_"The avian hybrids are on their way. You are to initiate the operation we discussed."_

The Eraser was startled. "What? Now?"

_"No sense in holding it off. This is our golden opportunity."_

Ari's heart was racing in his chest. Max was coming. "But, sir, wouldn't it be best if –"

_"Need I remind you that if it weren't for me, you would be rotting in a ditch somewhere,"_ The doctor said coldly through the static. _"I wouldn't be questioning my savior's orders if I were in your position."_

"Sir, I -"

_"I brought you back from the dead,"_ the man interjected. _"I revived you from your expiration, mutt, but if you step one more toe out of line, I swear I will put a date right back on your neck. Do I make myself clear?"_

Ari swallowed nervously in an attempt to coat his suddenly parched throat. "Crystal, Dr. Gunther-Hagen," He reluctantly replied. "I'll get the team ready."

* * *

"So, um... We just sit here and eat roasted marshmallows all night?" Gazzy asked skeptically, sifting through a backpack somewhere to Iggy's left, the plastic packaging of assorted junk foods crinkling in his hands as he catalogued the non-perishable snacks.

"And then we sleep out here, on the icky ground, after your mom has so kindly provided beds for all of us at home," Nudge added in distaste.

"It's not like we haven't done it before," Fang mumbled.

"Yeah, back when we were mutant hobos," Nudge retorted.

Max let out an indignant huff from across the crackling campfire. "Look, guys, I thought going camping would be good for us. You know, telling ghost stories, sleeping under the stars, peeing in bushes. Normal family bonding time."

"Just don't expect us to start singing Kumbaya or anything," Iggy said, absentmindedly poking at the fire with a stick. His main objective was just to get the stupid night over with. With ears like his, those creepy sounds in the woods become a cacophony of unidentified twig snaps and animal calls, and he was constantly slapping at mosquitos in the muggy July heat. "You know, if you want some quality family bonding, we could've just gone mini-golfing."

"How the heck are you supposed to do mini-golf?" Max said irritably. "You'd just stand around and complain the whole time 'cause you can't see what you're aiming for."

The words hit him with a dull pang of resentment. It's not like he wasn't used to Max running her mouth without thinking, but her bluntness never failed to have an affect on him. And, as always, he could do nothing but take a breath and shrug it off. "I'd still beat you," he replied easily, masking his hurt with a well-placed smirk.

The evening went on much as Gazzy had predicted. They didn't have a lot to do besides chow down on enough s'mores and charred hot dogs to satisfy their avian appetites, and after several failed attempts at telling ghost stories (Nudge's trailing off into the oblivion of how many shoes sat in her axe-murder victim's closet), Max simply caved and sent everyone off to their sleeping bags. Unfortunately, due to Iggy's height his shoulders stuck out of the top, and he found it hard to feel the camping spirit as he tossed and turned in the insufferable cocoon, trying to make himself comfortable with his head resting on the hard, unforgiving ground.

Eventually, he was forced to acknowledge his severe need to take a leak and gave up on all hope of sleeping, crawling out and carefully maneuvering himself around the slumbering flock members scattered over the campsite. He paused to listen when he heard the telltale clacking of a keyboard somewhere to his right - leave it to Fang to bring his computer on a family camping trip.

"Where you going?" Fang whispered, his voice nearly lost in the sea of chirping crickets.

"Gotta pee."

"Do you need help?"

The blind boy rolled his eyes. "I think I can manage to find a tree out here in the woods, thanks."

"Don't go too far," Fang said, rattling away on his keys again. "Max will hold me accountable if you get mauled by bears."

As it turned out, the clearing Max scouted out for them was bigger than Iggy had pictured. He walked quite a distance before his outstretched hands reached the first tree, and he quickly relieved himself on the bark. He could've just done his business anywhere, he realized, but where was the fun in that?

As he was zipping up his jeans, he heard a loud rustling in the underbrush, and his muscles tensed instinctively, his ears straining at the sound. There was someone in the woods, someone startlingly close-by. He was about to run back to camp and alert the others, when he heard a familiar _click_. He froze. They had a gun.

"C'mon now, little birdie," a harsh voice rumbled from the trees. "Just come quietly if ya don't want a bullet lodged into that pretty little skull of yours."

There was more than one Eraser, and they circled around him. He could feel their eyes on him as they leered down at him menacingly, and he brought his hands up in surrender. Licking his lips anxiously, he muttered, "Can't a guy just take a leak in peace?"

They wrenched his arms behind his back, wrapping his wrists together in duct tape. After pressing some tape to his lips for good measure, he was slung over the shoulder of one of the brutes and carted off into the woods. The first thought that came to his mind was that he was being taken back to the School, a proposition that made his blood run cold with fear. But, he realized, that didn't make any sense - Itex was completely wiped out. Heck, the Erasers were supposed to be extinct! What was this place, some kind of wildlife preserve for endangered mutants?

After about ten minutes of stomping through the underbrush, they suddenly stopped and dumped Iggy unceremoniously onto the ground, snickering as he let out an indignant groan through the tape. One of the Erasers threaded its long claws through his hair, yanking his head back and inhaling his scent deeply through its canine nostrils. Much to the redhead's disgust, it began slowly dragging its putrid tongue over his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously beneath it. A dark chuckle rumbled from deep within its chest, and fear prickled over Iggy's skin like acupuncture. "He'll like you," the Eraser said, and before Iggy had time to ponder this vague statement, the tape was ripped from his mouth and he let out a hiss of pain. So much for growing a wimpy pubescent mustache anytime soon...

"I hate doggy kisses," Iggy said with a grimace, and he received a heavy slap across the face.

"Shut up, runt."

Bristly, paw-like hands slid beneath his shirt, and the fabric was torn from him, claws scraping over his torso. "My, my, my," The Eraser growled slowly, "what pretty wings you have, birdie. Mind if we take a closer look?" Everywhere, hands groped roughly at his wings, ripping feathers from their sockets and sprouting blood with their sharp nails. Iggy struggled, trying desperately to wriggle away from them, but with his hands tied he was helpless against the massive brutes.

"Get your filthy mitts of my wings!" Iggy cried furiously, wincing as a clump of feathers was torn away. It would take forever to grow those back... How was he supposed to fly now?

One of the monsters held his right wing at the base, and out of nowhere, he felt a cold, serrated edge pressed against his feathered skin. Before he had time to beg, to even scream, the knife tore into him, digging through tendons and muscle and bone. He let out a barely human shriek of agony, feeling every move the knife made as it sawed through the marrow, back and forth at a sadistically slow pace, until finally it came back up through the flesh. It was pain like he'd never experienced. He wanted to pass out. He wanted to die.

And then, with a heart-numbing _thump_, the severed wing fell to the ground. This had barely registered in the clouded haze of his mind, when a new and terrifying thought came to him.

He would never fly again.

The world was slipping into blessed oblivion just as the knife began to start on the second wing...

* * *

Fang was scrolling through the comments on his latest blog entry, smirking at the abundance of date requests, and even spotting one rather disturbing marriage proposal. He was almost tempted to wake Max up and show her, just to prove he really did have fangirls. She had always refused to believe him, and he had concluded that deep down, she was playing the jealous girlfriend. Man, he was one lucky bird-kid to have a girl like her...

That's when he heard it. The scream. It was a horrible shriek of raw pain, piercing through the stillness of the summer night as it echoed through the trees.

It was Iggy.

Fang jumped to his feet, his laptop crashing to the dirt as he sprinted toward the sound, pure dread flooding his senses and kicking him into high-gear. How had he become so engrossed in the Internet that he had managed to overlook the fact that Iggy hadn't returned yet? Unfurling his wings, he took off at a sharp angle to avoid the trees, flying over the forest as he searched frantically for a sign of life. Oh, gosh. What if he didn't find him alive?

_You're an idiot, you're an idiot_, he told himself. _Your brother was getting axe-murdered or something while you were updating your stupid blog. Stupid, stupid, stupid..._

Even his hawk-like vision had trouble making out anything in the poor lighting, and as he searched, the minutes seemed to stretch on for eons. The anxiety built within him, winding his stomach into knots. _Where was he?_

And then, finally, he caught a shock of paleness against the shadowed ground - a crumpled figure, glistening in a bed of crimson. He dove for it immediately, and as he made a hasty landing, his eyes fell on a horrifying scene. There was Iggy, pallid and painted red, looking for all the world like a corpse. And, beside him...

Fang leaned over and vomited his s'mores, his stomach constricting painfully as the image seared itself in his brain. Iggy's wings. Long and angular, pure white and inky black, arguably the most agile pair in the flock. They lay severed on the ground, drenched in blood.

He had to know if he was still breathing. He knelt down beside Iggy and checked his pulse, muttering to himself frantically. "Please be alive. Please be alive. Please don't be dead, Iggy..."

When he felt that faint heartbeat, a sob of relief escaped his throat. He could feel tears running down his face, but he didn't care, because all that mattered was that his brother was still alive. But oh, gosh, his wings... It was the unthinkable. Who would _dare_ do something so heinous, so incomprehensibly cruel? Suddenly, the irony of his parting words hit him like a brick wall. _"Don't go too far. Max will hold me accountable if you get mauled by bears."_

But a freaking grizzly wouldn't have dragged Iggy all the way out there and meticulously gnawed off each of his wings. Whoever had done this was, quite pertinently, smarter than the average bear. The question was, _why?_

"I have to get him to the hospital," he said to no one in particular. Daring to take another glance at the severed wings, the thought occurred to him that he should do something with them. He couldn't just leave them there, could he? But taking a wingless Iggy in the air would be a stretch as it was, there was no way he could manage the extra weight. After a moment's debate, he approached the pair and found a large feather that had been untouched by the blood and grime, gently plucking it out and tucking it safely into his hoodie. Tears stung his eyes, and he shakily wiped them away. Was this all Iggy would have left?

Carefully gathering his brother in his arms, he did a haphazard U-and-A, struggling under the added weight but managing to make it into the air. Iggy was lighter than Fang expected, but if he was going to save the bleeding boy's life, he would need some help getting him to the hospital. He flew toward camp, trying not to think of the slippery feel of Iggy's now appendage-less back as he tried to get an awkward hold on the limp, lanky body, fully aware of the nausea crawling up his throat. "Don't puke," he hissed to himself, panting with exertion as he concentrated on beating his wings up and down, up and down, practically bending under the additional ninety-so pounds of weight. "Don't puke, don't puke..."

He dropped into the clearing with a less-than-graceful landing, tumbling over Iggy and swallowing a mouthful of dirt and blood. Choking, he screamed desperately for help. "Max! Max, wake up! _Max!"_

She was at his side in an instant, and he pushed her away. "Iggy! Help Iggy!"

He heard her gasp of horror as she took in the sight of Iggy, in all his bloody, wingless glory. Her voice was hollow and so dangerously quiet as she stared at him in blank shock, as if what her eyes were seeing refused to register in her brain. "His wings... His wings..."

Fang left her there, rising shakily to his feet and stumbling over to the others, who were just waking up. "Fang?" Gazzy said anxiously, all notions of sleep forgotten as he scrambled out of his sleeping bag. "What happened?"

"Iggy was attacked," he replied bluntly, feeling as if he would pass out at any moment. "He can't fly anymore."

* * *

The heart monitor's monotonous beeping was slowly driving Max insane.

She didn't trust the doctors, for obvious reasons. The way they looked at Iggy, as if he were a high school biology project, soaked in formaldehyde for them to dissect. Protocol procedures, white lab coats, and that infuriatingly condescending, businesslike tone all managed to put her on edge. Well, that, and the fact that her brother had nearly died, and had just lost all hope of ever flying again.

Sitting there by the bed, watching his chest slowly rise and fall with the help of a breathing tube, knowing the only reason he had survived the last few hours was because the entire flock had donated generous amounts of blood for an emergency transfusion... It scared her, how close they'd been to losing him. Iggy and all his sarcastic, self-deprecating wisecracks, his admittedly remarkable skill at _everything_, and just his sheer knack for being so dang annoying at times... Everything that was him, the place he had in their family, it all hung in the balance, put up for display on that insufferable heart monitor, beeping away her last cling to sanity.

It amazed her just how _fragile_ he looked. Maybe it was the ugly hospital gown and the IV taped to his arm, or possibly it was her knowledge that his back was left with nothing but two gaping wounds where there should've been wings. All she knew was that she never wanted to see another one of her flock like this again.

She let out a bitter ghost of a laugh. "This night didn't quite turn out the way I planned," she said, taking his hand and absentmindedly picking at the hospital bracelet wrapped around his wrist.

"I don't think anyone could've planned for this."

She had almost forgotten Fang was there. He sat on a stiff chair in the corner, looking as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a sigh of exhaustion, but they both knew fully well that none of them would be getting any sleep that night.

"Did you call my mom?" Max asked wearily.

Fang nodded. "She'll be here any minute. She left Ella at home."

"Go get the kids," she said. "I don't like them being by themselves anywhere in this place." Fang wordlessly complied, rising from his chair like a rickety old man and leaving Max alone with the incessant beeping.

Her mom arrived a few minutes later. The lines on her face had never looked more prominent, and the first thing she did when she walked through the door was give Max a squeezing, comforting hug. "It'll be okay," she whispered, rocking her daughter back and forth. "We'll get through this. It'll be okay." Max nearly broke down and cried right there on her mother's shoulder, but she restrained herself. She had to stay strong for the flock, she had to.

"What happens now?" She said, willing her voice not to waver.

"Well, once he heals..." Her mom paused for a moment, staring at Iggy with a sad little attempt at a smile. "We just love him, and help him transition to a normal, human life."

That's when Max finally allowed herself to cry.

* * *

It was cold when he woke up. Not a normal cold, but the strange icy feeling you get when you know something's very, very wrong. The staccato beeping of a heart monitor assaulted his ears, and the smell of disinfectant left a burning sting in his nostrils. A wave of panic came over him, suffocating him, and suddenly he was seven years old again, strapped to an operating table, bathed in fluorescent light and quivering with fear.

"Max!" He called instinctively, ripping out the breathing tube and the IV, wrestling with the sheets as he scrambled to a sitting position. _"Max!"_

"Iggy, Iggy it's okay!" He instantly recognized Nudge's voice, and he allowed himself to relax slightly as she placed soothing hands on his chest, gently pushing him back onto the bed. "You're in the hospital, you're safe."

"Hospital?" His head was spinning, and for the life of him, he couldn't remember anything that would warrant him being there. "What happened?"

"You... You don't remember?"

He tried. He tried to remember, but all he came up with was roasting marshmallows over the campfire, Angel resting on his lap and laughing at something he said. "We went camping..."

"You were attacked, Iggy," she said slowly, a pitying tone in her voice. "They... Your wings, they..."

And suddenly, it all came rushing back. The Erasers in the woods, the knife, the pain. And his wings... He couldn't feel his wings.

Tentatively, he propped himself up and reached behind him, running his hand over his back, and his worst fears were confirmed when his fingertips met nothing but gauzy bandages. A numb feeling came over him, seeping through his veins. Everything was so cold.

His wings were gone. He would never fly again.

* * *

**If you liked it, please leave some feedback, and be sure to Follow! Reviews are an encouraging way to speed up the updating process... :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**I planned to update over the weekend, but... I've caught the Bertie bug. I'm referring, of course, to Bertie Gilbert, aka BertiebertG. I found out the guy who briefly played Scorpius Malfoy was pretty popular on YouTube, and I was curious as to what the offspring of my beloved Draco assumedly would look like. Subsequently, I discovered how freaking cute he was, not to mention his knack for making equally attractive friends. And... Well. Sorry about that.**

**On with the story!**

* * *

Iggy

* * *

Four days. That's how long Iggy had been home, trying to "adjust", as Dr. Martinez called it. Honestly, what took the most adjustment was the way the whole family had been walking on eggshells around him. Their sympathetic tones were starting to grate on his sanity.

"Max, just let me make it," he said wearily as he entered the kitchen, wrinkling his nose at the strange smell wafting from whatever she had concocted on the stove.

"Iggy!" She exclaimed, startled out of her spastic whisking. "What are you doing out of bed? The doctor said -"

"I was bored," he said flatly. "I couldn't care less what the doctor said, I'm sick of just laying around in my room all day. How 'bout I make dinner, alright?"

"Are you sure?" Max said doubtfully. "I mean, if you need to rest -"

"I'm fine," he interjected again. "I don't have cancer, I can make dinner for one night."

Once he'd dumped Max's radioactive sludge ("It's split-pea soup!") into the trash, he rummaged through the pantry and managed to find a box of lasagna noodles. It was a welcome escape to concentrate on making the flock's food - anything to do besides lay in bed and feel sorry for himself.

He'd spent a week in the hospital, which gave him a lot of time to sit and contemplate being a relatively normal human for the rest of his life. This wasn't the kind of situation he could simply come to terms with, but he had so far done an impressive job of putting off the impending meltdown. The less he thought about it, the easier it became to handle, and so he put it out of his mind. Sometimes, he swore he could still feel feathers against his back, and he could almost pretend as if nothing had ever happened.

Almost.

And so he lost himself for an hour, whipping up homemade tomato sauce and garlic toast, putting all his focus into layering the pasta with OCD-esque perfectionism. It was a pathetic coping strategy, but he'd take lasagna over therapy any day, which had been Dr. Martinez's suggestion. He was a secretive person. In his mind, it was far better to drown his feelings in cooking than to spill his guts to some stranger with a fancy PhD; or anyone, for that matter.

"Dinner's ready!" He called, pulling the pan of pasta out of the oven and setting it onto the stove with a sigh. He heard the flock come scampering down the halls, and the deep, collective inhale of mozzarella-scented air as they entered the kitchen.

Max took charge as usual, distributing orders for the kids to set the table. "Gazzy, drinks! Angel, get forks and napkins, and Nudge, you're on plates."

"Aye aye, captain," Iggy muttered, hanging up his (very manly) apron next to the fridge.

"Hmmm, Iggy, this looks delicious," Dr. Martinez praised as she shuffled into the kitchen.

He recognized the drag of her bunny slippers against the linoleum, and asked, "Rough day at work?"

"You have no idea," she replied. "I had this one lady bring in her parrot, its wing -" Her sentence cut off hastily, and his temporary reprieve came to an abrupt end as it all flooded back to his mind. "Iggy, I'm sorry," she apologized awkwardly.

"It's fine," he replied, masking the memories with an unperturbed tone.

They sat down for dinner, and the family engaged in casual conversation as they piled lasagna onto their plates. "So, you guys ready for the presentation tomorrow?" Ella asked around a mouthful of toast.

"Yep," Max replied. "We should have a good turnout, it was announced on the radio this morning."

"What presentation?" Iggy asked, thoroughly confused.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table. This was obviously the question he wasn't supposed to ask. "For the CSM," Max replied evenly.

"Why haven't I heard about it?" He demanded, anger beginning to prickle inside him. He wasn't some kind of invalid, for Pete's sake!

"It just came up," Max replied. "While you were in the hospital. It's just a publicity stunt one of our sponsors came up with, no big deal."

"If it's 'no big deal', why don't you want me there?" He retorted testily.

Max let out a frustrated huff. "Because, Iggy! We're flying for them! Okay? It's another air show. I thought it was in everyone's best interests not to inform you, because there's no need for you to go and be left out."

For once, Iggy was lost for words. And then it came to him: They didn't need him anymore. He was now the third wheel of the flock. He realized that there would always be a barrier there, distancing him and his family further and further apart. What if they decided to pick up and migrate again? And if he didn't belong with them... Then where else?

He didn't know why this was affecting him so strongly, but he could feel the panic rising in him, the full weight of it all coming over him like an avalanche, crushing him. His mask was faltering, and the meltdown was bubbling from inside, fighting to spill out in a messy outpour of emotion. He couldn't just ignore it anymore - it was there, in the open, laid out for the world to see. If his family was talking about it, then it was real. There was no avoiding it anymore.

In the terror of that moment, he did the only thing he could think to do - he ran. He got up from his seat and just fled the kitchen, his feet picking up speed as he bolted out the door and into the backyard. It was surrounded by trees, the neighbors would never see him if he -

And then the final shred of his fragile composure shriveled up and died, because it occurred to him that he couldn't just pull a U-and-A to escape. He was stuck down there, on the ground. He was trapped.

Before he knew it, he was kneeling on the grass, curling in on himself and bawling his little bird-kid heart out. It wasn't fair! As if he wasn't already the blind one, the handicap, a freak of society. Now he had to be a freak in his own family, too?

He was so caught up in his pity party, he didn't even notice when Angel followed him out the backdoor until she threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him with all the consolation her seven-year-old body could muster. "It's okay, Iggy," she said, gently running a hand through his hair, just as he'd often done to her whenever the little girl was upset. "We all still love you. I love you, Gazzy loves you, Nudge loves you, Fang loves you..."

"And I love you," he heard Max say from the doorway. She came out to sit on the grass beside him, setting a hand on his knee in an uncharacteristically comforting gesture. "I'm sorry, Iggy. I didn't mean for you to find out that way."

"It's okay," he replied, which came out as more of a cracked whimper than anything else. Embarrassed, he rubbed a hand across his bloodshot eyes furiously, ducking his head to the ground. If Fang saw him like this...

Lo and behold, Fang had snuck up on him as well, and the older boy gave him an awkward guy-pat on the shoulder. He didn't say a word, but somehow, the simple effort was all Iggy needed to shakily pull himself back together. "Sorry," he mumbled, dragging a hand across his eyes once more and rising to his feet.

"You okay, Iggy?" Nudge asked from the doorway, her voice heavy with concern.

"I'm fine," he replied somewhat waveringly.

Suddenly, he was nearly bowled over by a small, seventy-pound bird-child, who hugged him fiercely around his slim waist. Gazzy buried his face in Iggy's T-shirt, muffling his words as he spoke. "I don't care if you can't fly, or if you can't see. You're still my hero, Ig-man."

For the first time in over a week, Iggy smiled voluntarily, ruffling the smaller boy's hair because a hug would just raise the mush-fest to an unhealthy level. "I am pretty awesome, aren't I?" He brought himself to say. "I guess I would have an unfair advantage over the rest of the world if they didn't give me a few handicaps, right?"

Gazzy giggled, and Max biffed him over the head, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "Don't get too cocky, Ig-man."

* * *

A day later, he listened to the family minivan pulling out of the driveway, forcing a smile as he offered them a thumbs-up. "Good luck!" He called, his heart contracting painfully in his chest. For the next few hours, he was in for a long and lonely time, sitting at home without so much as a goldfish to keep him company. Meanwhile, the rest of the flock would be doing barrel rolls and aerial dives through the sky, showing off their feathers for a stadium full of mutant enthusiasts. He could hardly contain his joy.

He went back inside when he finally lost the sound of tires against the asphalt, plopping himself down on the couch and flipping through the TV channels. He liked sports because there was always commentary, explaining what was going on. "Wish real life was more like that," he muttered to himself sardonically, settling on some baseball game and closing his eyes.

During a commercial break, he heard the deep thrum of a large engine as a truck pulled up to the house. The doorbell rang, and he reluctantly got up to answer. By the time he'd opened the door, the truck was already driving away, and when he stepped out onto the welcome mat he felt his toe nudge into something. He bent over to pick it up, finding a relatively light cardboard box plastered with stamps and packaging tape. Curious, he took the box inside and hacked away at the tape with a pair of kitchen scissors until he was able to pry the lids apart. He dove his hand into the packing peanuts, pulling out...

A disc.

Now he had to know what the mysterious package was all about. Unsure of whether the disc contained audio or video, he went down the hall to the boys' room and dug through all the crap on Fang's bed, searching for his laptop. Once he'd found the computer, he powered it up and carefully inserted the disc.

It began playing automatically. To his surprise, a smooth, strangely accented voice addressed him through the speakers. "Hello, Iggy," a man said pleasantly. "I am Dr. Hans Gunther-Hagen, top researcher and practicer of limb-regeneration in the world." He drew out the words, as if to emphasize how incredibly awesome he thought he was. Despite the man's pompousness, however, Iggy couldn't help but pay attention when he heard what came next. "I have heard of your unfortunate incident," the doctor said, "and would like to offer my help in recovering your wings, using a new and very successful technology I have developed, a limb regenerating serum - or LRS for short. I will require no payment in return for the procedure, and wish for nothing more than to restore you to your normal way of life."

Iggy's head was spinning. Not once had he considered a possibility of getting his wings back. He thought he was doomed to live with feet planted on the ground for all eternity. But, if this man really had the perfect solution as he claimed... There was nothing Iggy wouldn't do to get it.

"If you choose to accept my proposition," the man continued, "be at the airfield nearest your location at 4:00 p.m. today. My plane will be waiting to transport you to my head research lab, located on a small private island off the coast of Germany." He paused for a moment, as if letting the message sink in. "I do hope you consider my offer, Iggy."

The clip ended, and the now featherless redhead had already made up his mind. A new pair of wings would make everything right again. In the back of his mind, he knew it all couldn't be as simple as the doctor made it out to be, that there had to be some kind of catch. But he was willing to pay whatever price it took to become part of his flock again, if it really were possible.

He'd taken the bus before. The little local airport was right en route, according to the enthusiastic tour Gazzy had given him the last time they rode transit. He'd have to run to the bus stop if he was going to make it in time...

As he was pulling on his shoes, the thought occurred to him that he couldn't just run away for an indefinite amount of time without leaving his family some kind of notice. Knowing he could count on Fang checking his laptop the moment he got home, he left the little case the disc had come in laying around conspicuously next to the computer in the confidence that Fnick would watch the video. Hopefully he would be understanding and not make a huge deal about it to Max - who, on the other hand, was most assuredly guaranteed to make a huge deal.

_I'm gonna be so dead when I get back,_ he thought ruefully. But being figuratively grounded at home would be far better than living the rest of his life literally trapped on the ground. Soon, he would be brushing the clouds, riding on the edge of all existence, reunited with the V-formation he called family. Then, maybe then, he could finally pretend as if nothing had ever happened.

* * *

Fang

* * *

The entire time Fang was flying, performing fancy loops and swoops for the crowd below, all he could think about was the missing member of their flock. Iggy was sitting at home while they were up in the air, a stadium of people cheering for them as they flashed their feathers for the cameras. Not for the first time, he felt the guilt of that night gnawing away at him, tearing him up inside. If he hadn't been so absorbed in his stupid blog, Iggy would be there, flying beside him.

Every time he closed his eyes, he caught a vivid glimpse of Iggy's blood-soaked, severed wings lying spread-eagled in the dirt. Snippets of that horrific night haunted his nightmares each time he went to sleep. He wondered if he'd ever forget - and then, he thought, why should he deserve to?

On the drive home, after they'd smiled and waved for the various reporters and news crews, Max seemed to pick up on his distant attitude. "Hey, Fangles," she said, giving his arm a none-too-gentle shove. "What's up with you? You've been acting more emo than usual all day."

"He should be here," he replied flatly.

"I know," Max said. "But what do you suggest I do about that? I can't make his wings magically reappear, Fang. It'll be fine, we'll make it up to him later."

"How can we?" Fang retorted, and his anger at himself and the injustice of the whole situation flooded out of his control before he could stop it. "Nothing we do will ever make this up to him! He lost his _wings_, Max. Just try to imagine that for a second, wrap it around your brain a couple times and see if you can comprehend how that would feel. Would anyone be able to make that up to you?"

Max didn't seem to have a response. The atmosphere in the van grew quiet after that.

An hour later, as they pulled into the driveway, Fang was expecting to find Iggy on the couch, drowning his sorrows with a bag of potato chips. However, the depressed ginger wasn't in the living room. Even stranger, an open package sat on the kitchen counter, green Styrofoam peanuts littered all over the place. The return address indicated that it had been shipped from somewhere in Germany.

"Mom," Max called, digging through the box for anything potentially buried in the packaging, "were we expecting anything from UPS today? Some fancy imported chocolate, for instance?"

Dr. Martinez apparently had no recollection of ordering anything recently. And still, Iggy had not come out from wherever he'd been hiding to ask them how the show had gone. Beginning to feel concerned, Fang retreated to the boys room, hoping he'd find the elusive Igster there. He was greeted with another empty room.

But Iggy had been there, apparently, and not without taking out his laptop, leaving it running on the bed. Muttering irritably at the blind boy for touching his stuff, he went to shut the computer down, when something amidst the clutter of his bed caught his eye. It was an empty plastic CD case, a few words scrawled over the front in Sharpie marker. Reaching to pick it up, he read the inscription curiously.

_Dr. Hans Gunther-Hagen – Limb Regeneration and Stem Cell Research_

The words "Limb Regeneration" jumped out at him immediately, and he got a sick, uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. The fact that Iggy had been investigating ways of retrieving his wings with the help of some lunatic scientist could mean nothing good. Suspecting that the disc had been left in his CD drive, he roused his laptop from its screensaver, and saw that sure enough, the movie-streaming application had been left open. Anxiety building in his chest, he restarted the video, steeling himself for the freak show he was about to see.

Shockingly, the man looked... Normal. Fang wasn't sure what he expected - a mad scientists with industrial goggles and a lab coat, maybe. But this guy looked pleasant. Safe, even. He appeared to be somewhere in his thirties, with well-groomed hair and a warm smile. "Hello, Iggy," he said genially, in some foreign accent Fang couldn't pinpoint, and he wondered how the man knew Iggy's name.

The doctor went into a whole spiel about this so-called LRS procedure he claimed would solve all Iggy's problems; meanwhile, Fang began to feel a more urgent sense of dread when the man offered to pick Iggy up in his private jet and whisk him off to this magical fairy island. Iggy had never met the man in his life - for all they knew, the guy could be a total psychopath. Would Iggy really be _stupid_ enough to...?

But then it hit Fang. Yes, yes he would, because what this doctor offered was the only thing that could ever make it up to Iggy, the only thing that could put things back to the way it was. Fang knew Iggy well enough to understand how desperate the other boy was for that to happen. The man could've asked for a million dollars, and Iggy would've found a way to give it to him. He would do whatever the guy wanted for a shiny new pair of wings, and this Gunther-Hagen guy knew it, too.

Fang had to do something. This was undoubtedly Iggy's stupidest idea in a long history of stupid ideas, and he couldn't just let his brother go, no matter what that man had to offer him. Glancing at the alarm clock, he calculated that if he flew, he might just make it to the airport before 4:00. He wouldn't have time to explain it to Max - and besides, she would only overreact if she knew what Iggy had gone out to do, so he would just manage the rescue mission without her. After all, it was his fault Iggy needed new wings in the first place.

Wasting no time with the back door, he simply shoved his window open and climbed out into the yard, doing a quick U-and-A from Dr. Martinez's hydrangea bushes. He would text Max later, once he found Iggy and convinced him to come home. Everything was going to be fine.

* * *

Iggy

* * *

The airport wasn't much more than a runway and a few hangars where the rich people stored their planes. At least, that's what the nice woman described to him as she led him to a plush leather seat on the small private jet, keeping him company as they waited for takeoff. She sat across from him at the table, handing him a can of soda from the mini-fridge and cracking open one of her own.

"I've never been on a plane before," he admitted.

"Well, enjoy it while it lasts," she advised warmly. "I expect you won't be needing one for the trip back."

Something inside him did a somersault at the thought. Soon, he would be flying again, without that bulky, metal death machine. It had been so long since he'd felt that rush of wind in his hair, riding the currents, suspended thousands of feet above the world. It was as if the sky was calling him - he couldn't wait to get back in the air, where every bird-kid belonged.

The jet engine rumbled to life, and he thought, _Soon, everything will be alright_.

* * *

**Hehe. Oh, you naive little ginger, you...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Happy Thanksgiving, y'alls!**

… **Somehow, I get the feeling you'd rather kill me than a turkey today. I'm really super sorry for the two-month hiatus, but I do have a pretty good excuse. See, I write all my chapters on my phone (trust me, it's more convenient that way). One sad, sad day, I was doing my makeup with my phone on the counter, and it just magically flipped into the toilet. I don't even know what happened. So, the first draft of this chapter drowned, and it took quite a while to reconstruct… Plus, I was mourning the loss of my phone.**

**So, anyway, I hope this update is one of the things you're thankful for today. :)**

* * *

**Fang**

* * *

If this were a cheesy Western, Fang was sure he'd see tumbleweeds bouncing across the runway.

The airfield was still and quiet and infuriatingly _empty_, and he could've screamed in frustration as he realized that he'd been too late. Iggy was probably miles away by now, snacking on complementary peanuts as he flew unwittingly into the scientist's grasp. Venting his anger, Fang snatched up a chunk of gravel and flung it across the pavement, spouting out curses at his brother's naivety.

But, lodged in his throat was the creeping guilt, the irrevocable resentment aimed at himself. He couldn't pin down exactly what was gnawing at him – _you didn't fly fast enough, you left him home alone, you're the reason for all this mess in the first place _– but no matter how he rationalized and justified, he couldn't shake off the feeling of responsibility, that unbearable weight in his chest. He could blame Iggy all he wanted, but in some dark crevice of his mind, a quiet voice confirmed that this was all on him.

But he knew there was little he could do about it now except to call in the reinforcements. Running a shaky hand through his hair, he retrieved the phone from his pocket and dialed the number he'd been dreading. He braced himself as it rang, anticipating the chewing out of a lifetime.

_"Fang, where the heck are you?"_ Max demanded from across the line. "_And, better question, where the heck is Iggy? We've been looking all over for him. Tell me he's with you."_

Clearing his throat, Fang replied (somewhat hesitantly), "No, he's not with me. But I have a pretty good idea of where he is."

_"Well, then what are you standing around chatting with me for? Go get him!"_

"Uh, I'm gonna need your help." _Oh fierce, mighty leader..._

_"Fang, you're a big boy,"_ Max said sarcastically. _"I'm sure you can handle it. I'm kinda in the middle of something here."_

"I'm serious, Max," he insisted. "Iggy just got on a plane, and now he's headed for Germany to potentially meet his doom. I'm gonna need you on this one."

_"Wait... Would you care to repeat that?"_ Even on the phone, Max sounded dangerous. _"Iggy's headed_ where?"

"Listen, it's a lot to explain. Just watch the video on my laptop. I'll be back in a few minutes, we can come up with a plan."

Before Max had time to respond, he hung up and got his wings out, taking off into the air once more. Facing that bundle of joy was not an experience he was looking forward to, but he was well out of options. And, the longer they waited, the closer Iggy got to Mr. Psycho Scientist's lair, so he was willing to take his chances with an angry Max.

The best they could hope for now was for Iggy to not do anything stupid until they dragged his scrawny butt back home.

* * *

**Max**

* * *

An hour ago, Max had held Iggy number one on her pity list. Now, all she felt like doing was smacking the ginger into next Tuesday, because apparently losing his wings hadn't cost him his uncanny ability to make stupid decisions. "Idiot," she growled under her breath. "What the heck have you gotten yourself into?"

Fang had just returned home, hair tousled in all directions, his mouth set at a grim line. They sat together on his bed, scrolling through the self-proclaimed Miracle Doctor's website. After skimming through some of the procedures and graphic pictures detailing each one, Max had come to a conclusion: "This guy is totally out of his tree."

Fang nodded in agreement. "Must've seemed legit to Iggy."

"Must have," Max replied. "Or maybe he's just desperate enough to try whatever witchcraft-y nonsense this guy has planned."

"Should we tell the kids?" Fang asked softly.

"I guarantee you Angel already knows," she said with a sigh. "But we do need to discuss this. Come up with a game plan."

Behind them, the door swung open, a slight creak alerting the presence of Ella standing in the doorway, her expression furrowed in curiosity. Max turned and quickly shut the computer, hiding a particularly gruesome photo detailing the regeneration of a woman's tongue. "Game plan?" Ella prodded, the unconvincingly innocent tone of her voice exceeding her usual nosy standard. "What for?"

Debating with herself a moment whether to involve her half-sister in this mess or not, Max let out a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck like a kid caught with its hand in the cookie jar. You know, if those things even still existed in the average family household. "Um, it's nothing you need to worry about," she replied, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible, whilst holding back the vomit that had gradually crept up her throat as they scrolled during their research. "We just got a call from Iggy. It seems he's fallen asleep on the bus again."

**Honesty is a virtue, Max,** the Voice muttered from somewhere within the dark corners of her brain.

_As much as I appreciate your input_, she responded with as much thought-sarcasm as she could muster, _shut up._

Ella scoffed at the lie. "Seriously? That's, like, the fifth time."

"Yeah, well, there's no telling where he is at this point," Fang said, hopping off the bed and slipping into his Vans. "We're heading out now, but it could take us a while to track him down. Let your mom know we probably won't make it back in time for dinner."

_For the next couple nights, at least,_ Max mused irritably. Stupid Iggy was going to make her miss taco Tuesday.

As expected, the kids protested copiously as she and Fang rounded them up, using the same lie they'd given Ella as an excuse to get their butts out the door. "But why do we all have to go?" Gazzy whined, setting down his video game with as much reluctance as a man taking his stand on death row.

"I'll explain when we get in the air," Max hissed. "Now get your shoes on and grab one of the emergency bags out of my closet. We're taking a little fieldtrip.

* * *

**Iggy**

* * *

The moment he stepped off the plane, Iggy nearly gagged, and he had to resist the urge to slap a hand over his burning nose. He was assaulted by the sharp, overpowering smell of chemicals, triggering some painful reminiscence about his lovely childhood home, the School. An uneasy feeling began to settle over him, and he suddenly wondered if this had been such a good idea after all.

"Right this way, please," the woman from the plane chirped brightly from ahead, and after a moment's hesitation, he warily followed the _click-clack_ sound of her stilettos against the hangar floor.

As they walked, it took him no time at all to notice one important detail about Gunther-Hagen's lab: The place was _huge._ Long linoleum hallways wove through each level of the enormous structure, leading to numerous labs, offices and research facilities. It was one supermassive maze - basically, a living nightmare for a blind dude such as himself. Every little noise echoing through the structure was making his head spin, and the hum of voices his ears picked up from behind closed doors sent a chill running down his spine. He could recognize an evil scientist's tone when he heard it, and he could feel his body automatically slipping into defense mode. He couldn't stop himself from asking the woman ahead of him a couple precautionary questions.

"So, uh, what kind of work do you guys do here?" He said, nonchalantly as he could manage. In that same moment, he heard a faint moan from somewhere on the level bellow, followed by a snippet of conversation. He recognized the words "scalpel" and "nerve damage". Immediately, he forced this horrific picture out of his mind. He must've been hearing things - the smell of the place was obviously giving him some disturbing flashbacks.

"We do just about everything here," the woman said in reply to his question; if she'd heard the noise, she didn't show any indication of it. He, too, was becoming more concerned with other things, like the attractive mental image her smooth voice was conjuring in his brain. He imagined her as a blonde beauty in a pencil skirt. Nice curves...

"You're aware of the regeneration procedures, of course," she continued. "Those occupy the greater part of Dr. Hans' research, but he usually has countless other little projects in production at a time. He keeps those under pretty tight wraps. There's no telling when he's going to make another breakthrough, and where there is success, there's always someone two steps behind waiting to claim it... That's what he always says, anyway."

"Right," He replied, attempting to appear interested and engaged, but only succeeded in coming off as overenthusiastic and admiring; he'd never been very skilled in the art of talking to hot girls. Iggy cleared his throat in an attempt to dispel his embarrassment, and said, "Well, then, these procedures... What exactly should I expect? Does it, you know...?"

"Hurt?" She finished. He nodded, a blush creeping up his cheeks. _Should've asked if it would affect my manly trap muscles…_

"They'll be pretty tender for a while," she admitted. "Like a layer of new skin. You will feel a little sore afterward. But, don't worry; you'll be on heavy anesthetics throughout the entire process. Plus, you should be able to fly again within forty-eight hours of the procedure."

"That's awesome," he replied, a wide grin splitting across his face. Thinking about it, he suddenly wished he could see his family's faces as they'd watch him dive in for a landing in the backyard, flashing his brand-new wings. In that moment, he felt as if he absolutely could not wait another second. He needed to feel feathers brushing against his back, the wind rushing over him as he rode the currents, that exhilarating feeling of weightlessness. He _needed_ to fly again - needed it so bad it hurt.

They took an elevator up several stories, to Dr. Gunther-Hagen's office. He was told to sit in a waiting room while the woman went to discuss something privately with the doctor. He waited on a barstool for a good half hour, lazily spinning back and forth as he scuffed his Vans against the floor. He noted that here, the squeaky linoleum had been exchanged for what felt like a fancy hardwood. Whoever this guy was seemed to have a flair for extravagance.

He was starting to get unbearably impatient when the door finally slid open, and the woman stepped back out. "The doctor's ready to see you now," she beckoned. He jumped off the stool eagerly, and then composed himself, forcibly tucking away his grin of excitement before following her through the door.

His ears made a quick assessment of the office, immediately noting its spaciousness and nearly circular shape, feeling the last dim rays of sunlight stream over his skin from a large window in the far wall. He heard the man in front of the window, his chair creaking slightly as he leaned forward on his desk. Iggy could feel his stare prickling him, and he shifted his weight in discomfort. It was as if those eyes were bullets piercing through him, straight down to his core. Suddenly, he felt almost painfully exposed. He wondered if it was too late to turn around and make a run for it.

"What's your name?" The man asked. His tone was soft, but still strangely unnerving. He sounded a little shaken up.

"Um... It's Iggy," he stammered. "Is… Is something wrong?" What did he do this time?

"Oh, no, it's nothing," the man said, equally unsettled. "You just... Remind me of someone."

They remained there for a long moment, the doctor's eyes still trained on him, the room blanketed in awkward silence. He was finally rescued by the woman, who hastily suggested, "Why don't you have a seat, Iggy? There's a chair ahead of you."

He gratefully took up the offer, expertly maneuvering himself to sit in a plush armchair facing the large desk. Dr. Gunther-Hagen cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "Well, Iggy, welcome to my lab," he said, using the same cordial voice from the video. "I'm actually quite relieved you accepted my offer. I won't lie to you... This will be the first time my regeneration serum has taken on such a monumental project. My associates and I are thrilled to have such a fascinating opportunity."

_Fascinating._ He was becoming a science experiment all over again. A lab rat. As much as this idea appealed to him, he knew the end result was well worth being subjected to ogling by a lab full of mad scientists. Heck, if the School were still in operation, he would gladly turn himself in just to get his wings back. He wanted this more than anything.

"Right," Iggy said, drumming his fingertips over his thigh anxiously. "So, uh, excuse me if I'm being a little forward, but how soon can we get this thing started?"

The man chuckled good-naturedly. "I thought you'd be eager. Don't worry; I had everything set up in advance. A few of my top surgeons will be conducting the procedure - they should be in the lab already. I'll join them later, just to make sure everything's running smoothly."

Iggy's heart leapt in his chest, and his face lit up like a kid's on Christmas morning. "You mean we can start now?"

"The sooner, the better," he replied. "Ms. Emerson, would you kindly escort him to the prep lab?"

"Yes sir," Ms. Emerson said. "Follow me, Iggy."

He practically scampered after her, no longer bothering to hide his smile. "Thank you!" He called over his shoulder to the doctor, who was staring at him once again as he flew out the door.

There was a bounce in Iggy's step as he walked beside Ms. Emerson, entering the elevator and riding it back down to the ground floor. They wound through the maze of hallways, an endless stream of thoughts running through his head as he pictured what it would be like to have wings again. Would they be like the ones he had before? Better? No, he decided, he didn't care. He just wanted some freaking feathers, _now._ Gosh, he wanted to fly so badly...

Ms. Emerson stopped abruptly, nearly causing him to bump into her. "The prep lab is just through here," she said, opening a door for him. "There are a couple nurses waiting for you inside."

All at once, the excitement faded, replaced by a sinking feeling of dread. Childhood memories of figures in white coats flashed through his mind, bright lights and the rattling of cage bars, and all he could smell were the chemicals in the air, flooding his lungs, suffocating him. He hesitated. After all the enthusiasm that had built up inside him, he just stood there in the doorway. Motionless. He was desperate, and yet, fear overpowered his need.

"I can't," he protested, shaking his head. "I can't."

"Yes, you can," Ms. Emerson insisted gently. "It'll be alright. The doctors here are good people, you'll see. I promise."

Iggy took a shuddering breath, forcing himself to swallow back the anxiety inside him. She wouldn't lie, would she? "Y-Yeah, okay," he said shakily. "Thank you, uh, Ms. Emerson."

"Call me Denise," She said warmly. His heart did another impossible jump-skip stunt in his chest, and he quickly stepped through the doorway to hide his blush.

The first thing the nurses had him do was strip down and change into a hospital robe, which, due to his height, ended up looking unintentionally skimpy on him, with the hem resting somewhere at his mid-thigh. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he let out a nervous laugh and said, "Man, I feel like a prostitute. Just what kind of place are you guys running here?"

The nurses were not amused. "Sit," one of them instructed, and he was led over to a metal gurney. Feeling his heart hammering anxiously in his chest, he obediently climbed onto it, wincing at the feeling of the cold surface against his legs. He sat silently, busying himself with tugging the thing over his knees - or, at least, attempting to.

He jumped violently when he felt one of the nurses dab at his arm with a freezing cotton swab. The highly concentrated stench of chemicals sent his stomach reeling, and he had to fight the urge to jump off the table and book it for the exit. "I don't like needles," he said in an uncharacteristically small voice, tugging his arm away from the woman's grip to no avail. The nurse ignored him. Without warning, he felt as a needle slipped beneath his skin, felt it worming its way through tendons and muscle and the sickening pull of a plunger against his veins as it filled the syringe with stolen blood. The nurses had to hold him down just to make sure they got enough. "Stay still," they ordered sharply. By the time the metal finally retreated from his skin, he was shaking like a leaf.

_"It'll be alright", she said_, Iggy thought to himself sardonically. _"The doctors here are good people", she said._

"Wait here." The nurses left the room, and he sat there, rubbing at his sore arm indignantly. What the heck was that for?

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long. More people came in and told him to lie down on the gurney. He was wheeled out like an invalid, down several hallways and into a much more spacious lab. They took off the ridiculous gown, leaving him in his pink boxer shorts - which used to be white, mind you, before Nudge threw them in with Gazzy's red _I pooped today!_ shirt - and began sticking electrodes on his chest, seemingly at random. He heard scientists bustling around him in a blur, and a man brought what Iggy recognized as an anesthesia mask to his face (a rare blessing in the School), placing it over his mouth and nose and instructing him to count to ten.

He made it to about six before the world slipped into a dreamless oblivion.

* * *

**Nudge**

* * *

"So... Let me get this straight," Nudge said, practically yelling over the rush of the wind as they flew in a sloppy V formation over the Colorado Plateau. "Some crack scientist sent Iggy a video invitation to come to his crib on a private island and get his wings - what was the word? _Regenerated_, and Iggy just goes along with it, without telling any of us, no warning whatsoever. I mean, I know he can be an idiot sometimes, but this is a whole new level of stupid, even for him. Is he crazy? Doesn't he know there are a lot of creepers out there? For all we know, that guy could be a murderer, or a rapist, or a clown or something. Geez, have I ever told you how much I hate clowns? Like, really, _really_ hate them. So yeah, we could get there and find this guy chopping Iggy into little bite-sized pieces, and it'll be all his stupid fault. Gosh, why does he do this to me? Doesn't he know how worked up I get?"

"I think we all know, Nudge," Max said wearily. "Look, we've got this under control, alright? We'll get there long before this guy has a chance to... chop Iggy into sirloin and feed him to his moat of Alligators."

"Eww," Nudge said, sticking her tongue out in disgust.

"Well, it was your idea!"

"I think Iggy just feels left out, Nudge," Angel said from behind her. "He's just been really... sad about this whole thing. Imagine having your sight taken from you, and then your wings. You'd be traumatized. He's gotten to a point where he'll try anything to put things back to the way they were. He's desperate."

Silence fell over them once more, as the weight of Angel's words settled in. Nudge thought about Iggy, how hard he'd been trying to keep it together the last few weeks. She felt tears prickle her eyes, and she concentrated on watching the sparse little bushes that dotted the ground. Miles and miles of red sandstone stretched out below them, as far as she could see.

Iggy had never seen the desert. He'd never seen the view from way up there, in the wide, blue sky. He'd never seen the foamy waves of the ocean, or the lights on a Christmas tree, or one of those cute girls Fang described to him. He hadn't seen the faces of his family in a long, long time.

And now, he couldn't fly with them, either.

Suddenly, she felt hate bubbling up inside her, threatening to boil over in a heated, ugly mess. While in the hospital, Iggy had told them about the Erasers that had done this to him - dragged him out to the middle of the forest and sawed off his wings, for no apparent reason other than to hear him scream. Up until recently, she had only been concerned with helping Iggy recover, but now she could think of nothing but revenge. Those monsters were the reason for this whole disaster. She _hated_ them.

"Nudge," Angel called, and she looked back to see an expression that she wished had never appeared on the little girl's face. At that moment, Angel looked decades older than seven. "Don't waste all your emotions on revenge," she said. "We've got more important things to worry about. Iggy's in trouble."

* * *

**Please R&R!**


End file.
